Illustration by Dan Meyer.

It was a cold, crisp, early October morning…

Yeah, I know what you're thinking, "Ahh geeze, here we go again. Another one of those warm and fuzzy, sittin'-by-the fire, toastin' marshmallows stories."

Like it or not, that's how my first duck hunt started. Yes, my first hunt…ever. Well, maybe not ever. I do remember hunting for Easter eggs as a kid and I did have to hunt for my car keys a couple of times over the years, but I sure don't remember unloadin At 58 years of age and on the leading edge of the baby boomer generation, I decided to enter a sport where many hunters my age are hanging up their waders. For the baby boomers that are finally thinking of entering the sport of wingshooting for the first time…here's a story of one, older, first time hunter.

It was a cold, crisp, early October morning, the kind that makes the hairs in your nose take notice with each breath. It had been sometime since I had been to the Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge in upstate New York. I couldn't recall exactly how long a drive it was, so I set my alarm to give myself plenty of time to dress, double check my gear list and wrestle with driving conditions.

The unconventional beeping of my digital alarm clock interrupted my sleep at about 3 a.m. Interrupted...hell, I'd been turning side to side in bed almost every half hour glancing at the clock to make sure the alarm hadn't failed...It hadn't. The excitement of my first duck hunting adventure was about to commence.

I had laid all my clothes out the night before so I was dressed and ready to rock 'n' roll in about 15 minutes. I went through my checklist again as I panned the smorgasbord of equipment in the back of my minivan. Once satisfied, I removed the frost from the windshield and hit the road 45 minutes later.

There was no reason to be concerned about the drive. At 4 o'clock in the morning, the milkman isn't even up. You remember the milkman, don't you? Anyhow, the roads were clear and I was the first to arrive at the permit station about 4:45 a.m.

Vehicles began to fill the lot shortly thereafter and along about 5 a.m., the lights went on in the permit station. Like the announcement of "last call" at the local watering hole, the opening of that building siphoned hunters from their vehicles. I, not wanting to miss the action, followed suit.

As I entered the building, I saw a large refuge map on one wall identifying the blinds. The opposite wall held a chart listing the blind numbers along side of which was the number of ducks taken the previous hunt day. One of the fellows reviewing the data was an acquaintance I new from the Clayton Decoy Show in the Thousand Islands. I approached him with an amicable greeting and a handshake and after a little small talk, he offered his expertise as to which blinds I might choose as well as those a novice, like myself, might want to avoid.

At 5:25 a.m., everyone was asked to leave the building. I didn't know why, but again, I followed the herd outside into the starry night. As each person stepped outside, they turned to form a line to get back into the building and I, uniformly, took my position in line as well. Once the building was waterfowler free, everyone reentered the building, one by one, showing evidence of a valid hunting license, waterfowl identification card and HIP number. Once the validity of the items was verified, each hunter was given a number and a duplicate was placed in a container.

After all hunters checked in, the lottery drawing for blinds commenced. I could feel the tension in the air as the first number was called. "Here," someone shouted and the individual stepped to the counter to claim his territory. "Number 36 is gone," the DEC officer shouted from behind the counter. That triggered several moans from the floor. The draw continued as did the outbursts of jubilation and agonizing groans of defeat. I heard someone call out my first choice and shortly thereafter my second choice was gone. Just as I was contemplating the possibility of returning home empty handed, I heard it! My number! They just called my number! Again, following the lead of my predecessors, I stepped to the counter and proclaimed "Blind 25". I paid my fee, signed the daily permit and exited the building with the strut of spring gobbler.